Underbrush
by chgirl
Summary: Only later on did she remember her camera phone...! Just a long drabble, really. Something I like to imagine.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own these characters, I'm just having fun -- they belong to Dick Wolf. Reviews always welcome.

//

**Underbrush**

//

_//_

_There were chills up my spine,_

_And some thrills I can't define..._

_How long has this been going on? --_ _George Gershwin_

//

//

Wheeler had known for some time that there existed some indefinable quality giving Goren and Eames their legendary status. The few times she and Logan had worked with them, it was impossible to ignore the way they finished each other's sentences; their seamless choreography; the private looks they exchanged before switching gears with a suspect. _If I didn't know better, I would think they were involved_, she had thought more than once, but they were colleagues, police officers -- partners. So she dismissed the thought as too outlandish.

Until...

//

//

Until a brisk spring day when Wheeler was returning from an errand on the west side of lower Manhattan. Walking along, she happened to glance into the distance at the brick wall of a trendy Tribecca restaurant, bathed in sunlight, and saw a couple leaning against it, enjoying the sunshine. Some hint of familiarity about them held her interest as she looked over and approached their section of the block from the far side of the street. She could see their eyes were closed, and the man was leaning back against the wall while the woman lay with her back against him, their hands twined together in front of her waist. Wheeler was musing to herself about how nice it looked to be basking lazily in such a warm spot, when she suddenly froze mid-step (someone actually ran into her with a mild oath) as she realized exactly what was so familiar.

Very tall.

Very petite (her head rested fully under his chin).

Distinctive, heavy overcoat.

Goren and Eames.

//

//

Wheeler felt like some lurking wildlife photographer who stumbles through the underbrush to find herself observing some long-sought, never-before-captured, animal ritual. She stood watching, stunned, as in one lithe movement Goren slipped out from behind Eames, and effortlessly moved her to his place against the wall. He must have said something amusing because she was looking up and laughing now. His far hand rested against the wall over her head, and the other slid up from her waist to cup her cheek; bending down, he barely drifted his parted lips over hers. Both of them looked at one another (faint smiles) before he glided back over her mouth, pressing in to morph the gesture into an intense kiss. Wheeler could actually see Eames arch a little towards him, fingers buried in his hair. His hand left her cheek as his arm wrapped around her and he finally enveloped her behind the bulk of his overcoat. Eames literally disappeared behind it. A few seconds later, and Wheeler would have walked by, none the wiser.

_That is one couple completely in love_.Wheeler remained immobile with frank amazement, wondering how long this had been going on and thinking that if it was more than this one day (and their body language suggested that it was definitely so), then they were far and away better actors day-to-day than she had ever given them credit for.

But as Eames disappeared from sight, Wheeler finally emerged from her reverie enough to realize that she should get moving if she didn't want them to discover she knew their secret. _Come on, legs – move! _ . . . too late. The intensity of her stare must have triggered their unerring sixth sense, and as the seconds ticked by before she could make her torpid limbs move into action, she watched helplessly as Goren turned and looked right at her, and then Eames followed suit, her eyes peering from behind his arm (_Kilroy was here_, Wheeler thought for one giddy split-second).

She could see Eames' eyes widening, then crinkling in what must have been amusement, and after Goren briefly flicked a glance her way, he looked back across the street and raised his eyebrows, his mouth curling into a bemused grin. He raised his index finger to his lips – ssshhh --- as she stood, momentarily mesmerized by his penetrating stare. He continued to smile at her like the Cheshire Cat.

For lack of anything else seemingly appropriate, Wheeler raised her hand half-heartedly in a limp semblance of a wave, then put her head down and at last got going.

When she turned around half a block later, they were gone.

_Back into the underbrush_, she supposed.

////

////

**A/N: **This mini story comes from the predominant image of G/E in my head, probably spawned by my favorite view of the two of them in the elevator in "Frame". I just keep seeing Alex being enfolded behind Bobby's overcoat. It just won't go away. An overcoat fetish if you will, LOL.


End file.
